The Color Red
by Beryl Bloodstone
Summary: On the eve of her 40th birthday, Angelina receives a strange letter. It claims that the sender is her imaginary friend, and he would like to have a couple words with her.


**Summary: On the eve of her 40th birthday, Angelina receives a strange letter. It claims that the sender is her imaginary friend, and he would like to have a couple words with her.**

**Just a short story! Hope you like!**

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******The Color Red**  


One more day, Angelina Durless thought rather groggily, staring down her distorted reflection in the mirror. She had just got done taking a shower, and was dreading clearing the condensation from the sleek surface. She did not want to see what a thirty-nine-and-a-half-year-old looked like before she turned forty. The thought of it send shivers down her spine. It was funny, she inwardly mused as she dried the water from her (slowly) aging body, how she thought she was not the type to fret over turning another year old.

"It's not the end of everything," she had told her sister, Rachel, when they were both still young and spry. "I don't know why Mum made such a huge fuss about it!"

Mum knows best, bless her heart. Angelina gathered enough courage to wipe away the steam clouding her mirror. Her brilliant red hair greeted her, then her piercing eyes. They were so light brown that they appeared red. It was a characteristic that she was often adored for, but also, teased about. She sighed, turning on the sink to brush her teeth. Soon, these will be gone, was her reasoning before she stepped out into hallway. The plush carpet felt fuzzy beneath her wet feet. The air was cold against her skin while she walked the short distance to her bedroom.

A blouse and frilly skirt-both red in color-was placed on her queen-sized bed. Angelina noticed a note nearby the clothes, so she picked it up and read it silently.

_Morning, Mum:_

_Aunt Rachel needed me for something, so don't worry about me. I've set out your clothes._

_Love you,_

_Julian_

_P.S. Don't worry about your birthday; you're still young and beautiful to me._

Angelina smiled fondly at her son's kind words. He always knew what to say, even if he was not around. She was enjoying the eighteen years they have spent together. To think that she was able to become a mother despite her condition continued to amaze her to this day. It made her wonder if her husband was content with the happiness that Julian brought her. There was not a day that went by that she did not think of her beloved. She wondered if he would still be in love with an old bag like her. She _was_ one day from two whole decades, after all.

The red-haired woman dressed, then going over to her closet to find her favorite red shoes. Having no such luck in finding them in the pile of the other vermillion footwear, she returned to her bed to have her attention stolen by the pair with the golden buckles she was looking for. A letter addressed to her was next to them, and she was sure that it was a heartfelt message from her adopted son. She tore the envelope open, and pulled out the letter written in neat, clean cursive.

She recognized right away that this was not her son's handwriting.

The letter read:

_Dear Angie,_

_Do you remember why you love red so much? Even as a child, you wore what ever red you could. You were so adorable in your little red shoes! But I digress. Dear Angelina, I've noticed that you are slowly losing the passion that comes with such a beautiful color, and I'm starting to think that you don't deserve to wear it, anymore. So prepare for a visit._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Imaginary (passionately flaming~!) Friend_

Scoffing, Angelina threw the letter aside. Whom did she know that was allowed to talk to her so informally? This had to be a bad joke. Was her son capable of such shenanigans? Putting the letter in the back of her mind, she prepared herself to go to work. She did not want to take off work just because her birthday was coming up. The expectant mothers came in to see her daily; they were more than half her age. She told herself plenty times that she did not need to be envious. She had a son, and loved him with all of her heart. So why did she feel the jealousy bloom so fast in the pit of her stomach?

_They are so lucky to feel a child grow within them,_ she thought, sorrow quickly replacing her envy.

When she returned home, the sorrow disappeared once she laid her eyes on her handsome son. He was in the kitchen, searching for something to eat in the refrigerator. She smiled, closing the door and hanging up her red coat. The sound of her shoes clacking against the marble floor alerted the boy of his mother's presence. He straightened, green eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Welcome home, Mum," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "You get my note?"

"Yes, I did," she replied. "How did I raise such a charming young man?"

"Maybe because you're a charming young woman. Cousin Ciel said…"

Angelina's mind wandered as Julian went on about her sister's son. Was she truly as amazing as he thought she was?

Maybe that letter was right, fake or not, she bitterly supposed. If she was doubting herself so much and dreading the fact that she was simply getting older, was she even qualified to wear the color red anymore? The thought plagued her as she went to bed, even threatening her from staying asleep. Maybe I should wear black for the rest of my life…

Mind far too excited to retire, Angelina decided to leave her bed. She turned on the lamp sitting on the dresser to her right, and her heart rate skyrocketed at the sight she saw.

"Good morning, Angelina dear. Did you miss me?"

The man who stood in her room had a shark-toothed grin that was as prominent as the abundance of red he wore. His hair was an unruly red waterfall down his back, past the seat of his black trousers. Startling green eyes-way more fierce than her Julian's-were behind the red frames of his glasses. Long lashes fluttered as the surprised woman as she almost broke her neck scooting backwards out of her bed.

"W-Who are you!" she hissed quietly, nightgown bunching around her hips. She almost did not bother to correct her indecency. The intruder clucked his tongue at her, his gloved finger waving in the air as his crimson coat ruffling as he approached the frightened woman. She noticed that he was wearing heeled shoes of the same color.

"Didn't you get my letter?" he asked. He was pursing his lips, well-manicured nails holding his chin. Seeing that he was not getting an answer, the effeminate male sighed. "I'm Grell Sutcliff, your imaginary friend. Are you sure you don't remember me? We have had such fun times together~!"

"G-Grell Sutcliff?" repeated the female redhead, shaking her head rapidly. "I know no one of that name!"

"Come now, love. You _must_ be able to remember _something_."

Angelina attempted to calm her nerves down to humor the strange man's claims. She closed her eyes, remembering times when her sister was not yet born and how lonely she was prior to her arrival. She had played by herself, having to resort to her imagination to create a playmate much like herself as a child: energetic, passionate, and obsessed with the color red…

She opened her eyes, seeing Grell in a new light with them. "Grell? But you're not real!"

"I'm as 'real' as I want to be, darling!" the fiery man retorted, arms crossed over his chest and nose in the air. Angelina picked herself off of the floor, getting back on her bed. Grell joined her, and took her hand. "My, have you changed."

Angelina chuckled dryly. "Yes, well, I haven't exactly managed to age gracefully like you have." She observed how young Grell's hand was compared to her calloused one, and retracted her hand; she did not want to soil the youth that her old friend had. She sighed softly when he took it once more.

"I didn't mean your age, Angie. Your spirit; it's changed indefinitely."

Her spirit? What, exactly, did that mean? As if sensing her confusion, Grell elaborated, "When you were a child, you were so bright and happy."

"I still am happy. I don't know what you mean," she answered.

"Angelina, do you remember why you love the color red so much?"

She paused, actually taking the time to contemplate why she loved the color. She loved it because it was her favorite color…right? It was the color of her hair, her eyes…even her co-workers nicknamed her "Madame Red." No, there was a reason far beyond those. She loved it because…it had once defined her. She was passionate, and lived life with vigor. Now that she was growing older, she had begun to lost sight of what defined her and started going through the motions.

Grell squeezed her hand. "You _are_ the color red, dear. That is why you have created me like this. Never forget the liveliness that comes with it."

Angelina felt the grip on her hand grow less firm. She looked up at Grell; he was disappearing before her eyes! She did not want him to go just yet! She wanted to show him the dreams she shared with him, and how they became reality. She wanted to show him Julian, and how handsome he was…but her old friend continued to dissipate.

"Grell!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his nearly transparent form. "Please, don't go."

"But I must, dear. I've gotten you to see yourself for who you really are, again," he sorrowfully informed, stroking her scarlet hair. "Just promise me this…"

"Yes?"

"Have a happy birthday," he finalized, and he was no longer there.

Angelina was alone in her room, her body suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness. After a restful sleep, she woke up with a new resolve. She was going to enjoy celebrating another year with her son, having what Grell reminded her of close to her heart. She was going to cherish the rest of her life, never losing sight of who she was…

The Color Red.

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**This almost made me cry...ALMOST. :) Tell me what you think!**


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